April 2020
"Hosanna!"
Based on Matthew 21:1-11
April 5, 2020
In the book, Man’s Search For Meaning, Viktor Frankl shares his experience as a Jewish psychiatrist who spent three years at Auschwitz and other Nazi prisons. During his time in the concentration camp, Frankl observed individual responses to that horrible experience. He noticed that in many cases, the prisoner who lost faith in the future was “doomed.” Without anything to look forward to, their spiritual hold on life faded.
One day in camp, another prisoner who was a well-known composer confided in Dr. Frankl. He told him about a dream, where a voice promised to tell the composer anything he wanted to know. So the prisoner asked when the war would over for him, and his suffering might end. The voice replied, “March 30, 1945.” The prisoner told Frankl about the dream at the beginning of March. So, for the next few weeks the prisoner was ecstatic—convinced that his dream would come true very soon.
But as the promised day drew near, the war news made it clear that they would not be freed by then.
“On March 29, [the man] suddenly became ill and ran a high temperature. On March 30, the day his prophecy foretold that his suffering would be over, he became delirious…. On March 31, he was dead. To all outward appearances, he died of typhus.”[1]
This story suggests that a person’s state of mind—especially related to their hope or courage—has a strong correlation to one’s health. Dr. Frankl concluded that his friend died in part because of his deep discouragement.
I saw something similar in the early years of the HIV/AIDS epidemic among those who suffered. For it appeared the most stubborn and ornery individuals were the ones who refused to give up and—despite all the odds—survived. Their attitude seemed to strengthen their immune system when nothing else could. Which of course is not the same as laying blame on someone who did die, implying their death was due to their lack of faith.
Yet, hope does affect our ability as humans to live. The philosopher Nietzsche once said, “One who has a why to live can bear with almost any how.” That kind of inner strength is central to the Passion narratives in our Gospels.
“Hosanna!” is what the crowd shouted as Jesus entered Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday. Many Christians assume “hosanna” is just a word of praise to God, like “hallelujah!” Jewish people sing “hosanna” during the Feast of Tabernacles or Sukkot, the 7th day of which is called “The Great Hosanna.”
But in Hebrew the original phrase for “hosanna” is also a cry for help. In Psalm 118:25 the writer uses the same words to say, “Save us, we beseech you, O Lord!” Hosanna! Today we might say something like, “Please, God, I beg you to save us!”
In one sense, it’s desperate cry—like a drowning person yelling for help. But it was even more than that. An oppressed people’s lament for freedom. Eventually, it became an expression of joy and praise for their long-expected liberation.
When Jesus rides into Jerusalem, the Passover crowd shouts, “Hosanna, Jesus, son of David! Save us from our cruel Roman oppressors! Hosanna! God, give us freedom!”
Today, we all have similar prayers. Hosanna! Save us from COVID-19! Hosanna! Heal the sick! Hosanna! Protect my family!
Hosanna! Help the unemployed! Hosanna! Free us from social isolation! Hosanna! Save me from hopelessness!
Hosanna! Protect our doctors and nurses! Hosanna! Don’t let my loved one die! Hosanna! Comfort those who grieve!
But Hosanna is not a magic word. Or a guaranteed response to my urgent prayer. Or a holy promise for a miracle. Some Christians like to say that if you just have enough faith, God will protect you from failure, disappointment, and disease. A theology of glory. A Christ without a cross.
But we know, if we are honest with ourselves, that sometimes life is not a picnic. That sometimes we have to face serious illness, the end of relationships, and loss of loved ones. We Lutherans call that the theology of the cross.
Because we believe God in Jesus is with us even in the midst of pain and suffering and tragedy. Even in the midst of a pandemic none of us could ever imagine. For sometimes Hosanna is nothing more than a lament. A word expressing doubt and despair. A question asking why God has allowed the thing you most feared to happen.
Like the words that Jesus cried from the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” A prayer that comes from another Jewish lament, Psalm 22. A psalm we Christians read each Holy Thursday, as we strip the altar. As we think on Jesus’ death.
And yet with Hosanna, there is always a ray of hope. For even in our most desperate prayer, God is still listening. God’s arms enfold us.
I believe there are no easy explanations for why we experience loss and suffering in this world. Our theology of the cross doesn’t offer simple answers or empty promises. Only that Jesus walks with us during our lives’ most heart-breaking days.
That, as Paul says in our second lesson, the Holy One in Jesus emptied God’s self and became one with us in suffering. Which gives us hope in our darkest hour. And grace to know that no matter what, we are God’s beloved children.
And that today God hears our prayers and tears and cries. As together we say, “Hosanna! Save us, God! Hosanna!” Amen.
----------------------------------------------
[1] Frankl, Victor E, Man’s Search for Meaning; 1975, New York, NY, Pocket Books/Simon & Schuster; pp. 119-120.
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 21:1-11
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, ‘Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
One day in camp, another prisoner who was a well-known composer confided in Dr. Frankl. He told him about a dream, where a voice promised to tell the composer anything he wanted to know. So the prisoner asked when the war would over for him, and his suffering might end. The voice replied, “March 30, 1945.” The prisoner told Frankl about the dream at the beginning of March. So, for the next few weeks the prisoner was ecstatic—convinced that his dream would come true very soon.
But as the promised day drew near, the war news made it clear that they would not be freed by then.
“On March 29, [the man] suddenly became ill and ran a high temperature. On March 30, the day his prophecy foretold that his suffering would be over, he became delirious…. On March 31, he was dead. To all outward appearances, he died of typhus.”[1]
This story suggests that a person’s state of mind—especially related to their hope or courage—has a strong correlation to one’s health. Dr. Frankl concluded that his friend died in part because of his deep discouragement.
I saw something similar in the early years of the HIV/AIDS epidemic among those who suffered. For it appeared the most stubborn and ornery individuals were the ones who refused to give up and—despite all the odds—survived. Their attitude seemed to strengthen their immune system when nothing else could. Which of course is not the same as laying blame on someone who did die, implying their death was due to their lack of faith.
Yet, hope does affect our ability as humans to live. The philosopher Nietzsche once said, “One who has a why to live can bear with almost any how.” That kind of inner strength is central to the Passion narratives in our Gospels.
“Hosanna!” is what the crowd shouted as Jesus entered Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday. Many Christians assume “hosanna” is just a word of praise to God, like “hallelujah!” Jewish people sing “hosanna” during the Feast of Tabernacles or Sukkot, the 7th day of which is called “The Great Hosanna.”
But in Hebrew the original phrase for “hosanna” is also a cry for help. In Psalm 118:25 the writer uses the same words to say, “Save us, we beseech you, O Lord!” Hosanna! Today we might say something like, “Please, God, I beg you to save us!”
In one sense, it’s desperate cry—like a drowning person yelling for help. But it was even more than that. An oppressed people’s lament for freedom. Eventually, it became an expression of joy and praise for their long-expected liberation.
When Jesus rides into Jerusalem, the Passover crowd shouts, “Hosanna, Jesus, son of David! Save us from our cruel Roman oppressors! Hosanna! God, give us freedom!”
Today, we all have similar prayers. Hosanna! Save us from COVID-19! Hosanna! Heal the sick! Hosanna! Protect my family!
Hosanna! Help the unemployed! Hosanna! Free us from social isolation! Hosanna! Save me from hopelessness!
Hosanna! Protect our doctors and nurses! Hosanna! Don’t let my loved one die! Hosanna! Comfort those who grieve!
But Hosanna is not a magic word. Or a guaranteed response to my urgent prayer. Or a holy promise for a miracle. Some Christians like to say that if you just have enough faith, God will protect you from failure, disappointment, and disease. A theology of glory. A Christ without a cross.
But we know, if we are honest with ourselves, that sometimes life is not a picnic. That sometimes we have to face serious illness, the end of relationships, and loss of loved ones. We Lutherans call that the theology of the cross.
Because we believe God in Jesus is with us even in the midst of pain and suffering and tragedy. Even in the midst of a pandemic none of us could ever imagine. For sometimes Hosanna is nothing more than a lament. A word expressing doubt and despair. A question asking why God has allowed the thing you most feared to happen.
Like the words that Jesus cried from the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” A prayer that comes from another Jewish lament, Psalm 22. A psalm we Christians read each Holy Thursday, as we strip the altar. As we think on Jesus’ death.
And yet with Hosanna, there is always a ray of hope. For even in our most desperate prayer, God is still listening. God’s arms enfold us.
I believe there are no easy explanations for why we experience loss and suffering in this world. Our theology of the cross doesn’t offer simple answers or empty promises. Only that Jesus walks with us during our lives’ most heart-breaking days.
That, as Paul says in our second lesson, the Holy One in Jesus emptied God’s self and became one with us in suffering. Which gives us hope in our darkest hour. And grace to know that no matter what, we are God’s beloved children.
And that today God hears our prayers and tears and cries. As together we say, “Hosanna! Save us, God! Hosanna!” Amen.
----------------------------------------------
[1] Frankl, Victor E, Man’s Search for Meaning; 1975, New York, NY, Pocket Books/Simon & Schuster; pp. 119-120.
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 21:1-11
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, ‘Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
"Don't Be Afraid"
Based on Matthew 28:1-10 (reading follows the sermon)
April 12, 2020
During the past couple weeks, a lot of people have been playing a game on Facebook. Where you make a list of things you’ve done for work, and ask friends to guess which one is not true.
So, let’s give it a try! Here’s my list of previous jobs:
So what do you think? Which one is the job I never did? Well, you’re correct if you said “waiter.” I’ve never worked in a restaurant.
But the last job—number seven in my list—is probably the one for which I was least qualified. It was many years ago, after seminary. I had just moved back to Minneapolis and was desperate for a job.
That spring I applied for a position working for a Kmart garden store. I thought it would be easy, since I’ve always enjoyed gardening.
But then I found out that I had to learn how to drive a forklift! The training video was pretty funny. It showed all the things you should not do when driving a forklift. Like a driver turning a corner too fast and running right into another employee!
I found that part of my job somewhat terrifying. Another young co-worker made it look so easy. Jeff drove the forklift like a pro. Moving stacks of pallets and hundreds of pounds of soil without batting an eye.
I was always afraid that the pallets might fall back on top of me or on someone else. I never quite got over that fear.
We all have things we’re afraid of. It’s a normal part of human experience.
Like moving to a new town or school, and feeling nervous about making new friends. Like having lived with sobriety for years, and suddenly wanting to use again.
Like feeling good about how far our country had come in accepting queer people and other diverse groups, but then watching with anxiety the rise of hate groups and attacks on synagogues.
Like feeling confident that our medical system has achieved so much in overcoming cancers and contagious diseases. But now we face COVID-19. And the news is filled with the collective fear everyone is facing and impossible to avoid.
Today’s Gospel lesson talks a lot about fear. Which is probably not what you were expecting to hear on Easter morning. Right? Easter should be filled with pleasant things—like Easter eggs and lilies and happy endings.
But our Gospel lesson throws fear right into the middle of the Easter story. The guards faint with fear when they see the angel—who tells the two women not to be scared. Next, the women flee in fear and run to tell the other disciples, who are hiding at home (also out of fear.)
Then, Jesus appears and says to them, “Don’t be afraid. Tell the others to go back to Galilee.”
Today, we might read Jesus’s words to the women as instructions to shelter in place—to go back to where it’s safe. Because for us, it seems like the only way to deal with fear. To avoid others. To isolate. To lock our doors against a deadly threat. To keep it away from our loved ones.
Yet, for the women and other disciples, their fear was gradually replaced by something else. They suddenly see that the tomb really is empty. That stone-cold death couldn’t stop Jesus. That fear can’t keep Jesus away.
The risen Christ appears to the disciples huddled together in dark rooms. Jesus lives in, with and through them.
They couldn’t deny it. They couldn’t explain it. But they could remember it. And re-live it. With everyday food and drink. Bread and wine shared at their table.
The resurrection stories handed down to us don’t satisfy our modern desire to understand exactly how things work. With questions like: Where did this begin? Who started it? How is it possible that something you can’t see could affect millions of people?
How can these simple elements heal our bodies and souls? Or restore our hope? Or keep us believing despite all odds?
Faith doesn’t answer all our questions. Just like medical science can’t answer all our questions about the current pandemic.
Faith can’t take away all our fear. But it can join us together in living through it.
Faith can’t guarantee we will be spared from illness, heartache or even death. But it can give us something to share that fills us with peace and grace.
Bread and wine. The body of Christ given for you. The blood of Christ shed for you. The real presence of Jesus today. Wherever you are. And wherever you may go.
Like those women on that first Easter, we peer into an empty tomb, hoping against hope that it is true. That death doesn’t have the final word. That life can still be fully lived. That love conquers fear.
Because, like those women, we see the face of Jesus. Standing right here in front of us.
And we hear the voice of Jesus, speaking the same words he spoke to them, “Don’t be afraid. I go before you. Always.”
Beloved, that is our Easter promise. Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia!
----------------------------------------------
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 28:1-10
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him, the guards shook and became like dead men.
But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here. For he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.”
So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my [siblings] to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”
So, let’s give it a try! Here’s my list of previous jobs:
- Grocery bag boy
- A sign-maker for a blind man
- Secretary with a Chinese Resource Center
- Seam technician at a corn-packing plant
- A door-to-door political advocate
- Restaurant waiter
- Forklift driver at Kmart
So what do you think? Which one is the job I never did? Well, you’re correct if you said “waiter.” I’ve never worked in a restaurant.
But the last job—number seven in my list—is probably the one for which I was least qualified. It was many years ago, after seminary. I had just moved back to Minneapolis and was desperate for a job.
That spring I applied for a position working for a Kmart garden store. I thought it would be easy, since I’ve always enjoyed gardening.
But then I found out that I had to learn how to drive a forklift! The training video was pretty funny. It showed all the things you should not do when driving a forklift. Like a driver turning a corner too fast and running right into another employee!
I found that part of my job somewhat terrifying. Another young co-worker made it look so easy. Jeff drove the forklift like a pro. Moving stacks of pallets and hundreds of pounds of soil without batting an eye.
I was always afraid that the pallets might fall back on top of me or on someone else. I never quite got over that fear.
We all have things we’re afraid of. It’s a normal part of human experience.
Like moving to a new town or school, and feeling nervous about making new friends. Like having lived with sobriety for years, and suddenly wanting to use again.
Like feeling good about how far our country had come in accepting queer people and other diverse groups, but then watching with anxiety the rise of hate groups and attacks on synagogues.
Like feeling confident that our medical system has achieved so much in overcoming cancers and contagious diseases. But now we face COVID-19. And the news is filled with the collective fear everyone is facing and impossible to avoid.
Today’s Gospel lesson talks a lot about fear. Which is probably not what you were expecting to hear on Easter morning. Right? Easter should be filled with pleasant things—like Easter eggs and lilies and happy endings.
But our Gospel lesson throws fear right into the middle of the Easter story. The guards faint with fear when they see the angel—who tells the two women not to be scared. Next, the women flee in fear and run to tell the other disciples, who are hiding at home (also out of fear.)
Then, Jesus appears and says to them, “Don’t be afraid. Tell the others to go back to Galilee.”
Today, we might read Jesus’s words to the women as instructions to shelter in place—to go back to where it’s safe. Because for us, it seems like the only way to deal with fear. To avoid others. To isolate. To lock our doors against a deadly threat. To keep it away from our loved ones.
Yet, for the women and other disciples, their fear was gradually replaced by something else. They suddenly see that the tomb really is empty. That stone-cold death couldn’t stop Jesus. That fear can’t keep Jesus away.
The risen Christ appears to the disciples huddled together in dark rooms. Jesus lives in, with and through them.
They couldn’t deny it. They couldn’t explain it. But they could remember it. And re-live it. With everyday food and drink. Bread and wine shared at their table.
The resurrection stories handed down to us don’t satisfy our modern desire to understand exactly how things work. With questions like: Where did this begin? Who started it? How is it possible that something you can’t see could affect millions of people?
How can these simple elements heal our bodies and souls? Or restore our hope? Or keep us believing despite all odds?
Faith doesn’t answer all our questions. Just like medical science can’t answer all our questions about the current pandemic.
Faith can’t take away all our fear. But it can join us together in living through it.
Faith can’t guarantee we will be spared from illness, heartache or even death. But it can give us something to share that fills us with peace and grace.
Bread and wine. The body of Christ given for you. The blood of Christ shed for you. The real presence of Jesus today. Wherever you are. And wherever you may go.
Like those women on that first Easter, we peer into an empty tomb, hoping against hope that it is true. That death doesn’t have the final word. That life can still be fully lived. That love conquers fear.
Because, like those women, we see the face of Jesus. Standing right here in front of us.
And we hear the voice of Jesus, speaking the same words he spoke to them, “Don’t be afraid. I go before you. Always.”
Beloved, that is our Easter promise. Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia!
----------------------------------------------
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 28:1-10
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him, the guards shook and became like dead men.
But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here. For he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.”
So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my [siblings] to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”
"Doors"
Based on John 20:19-31 (reading follows the sermon)
April 19, 2020
Back in the 1980s and 90s, if you were a gay man in Minneapolis, you probably went to the Red Door. The Red Door was a Hennepin County clinic that offered free HIV testing. As well as screening for other sexually transmitted infections.
The clinic got its name from its front door. A big red door on the street. Not exactly a scarlet letter, but a lot of shame passed through that door.
When the Red Door Clinic moved to a new building, it lost its signature entrance. And the clinic ended up in the basement—perhaps a non-so-subtle statement of how its patients were regarded.
The Red Door was an anonymous test site. In the early years of the AIDS epidemic, there was a lot of discussion about the pros and cons of anonymous versus confidential testing. Confidential testing is where you give your real name, but everything is still HIPAA compliant. Anonymous requires no names.
At the Red Door, most people made up names. Like John Doe, or Scarlet O’Hara, or Michael Jackson. And a lot of Ronald Reagan’s. When Rose Nyland of “The Golden Girls” TV show went to get tested (if you remember that episode), she used the name of her roommate Dorothy.
I remember going to the Red Door for an HIV test. And then waiting two weeks for the results. Two weeks of agony—even when you knew you weren’t really at risk. People like that were called “worried well.” But knowing that didn’t make the fear go away.
The staff at the Red Door were wonderful. They didn’t judge you because you were queer or a drug user or sex worker. The shame you might feel at other clinics was replaced by kind and caring words. Offered by counselors who held your hand. Who understood the fear and stigma. Who protected your identity behind closed doors.
Today’s Gospel lesson is also a story about closed doors. The Easter story in John’s Gospel begins with Mary Magdalene at Jesus’ grave. Expecting to find the door of the tomb closed, she’s surprised to see the large stone rolled to one side. She quickly goes to get Peter and the beloved disciple, who run with her back to the empty tomb.
Eventually the two men leave, but Mary stays, weeping. Looking through the open doorway, Mary sees two angels. Who tell her Christ is risen. Turning around, Mary comes face-to-face with Jesus. Though at first she thinks he’s the gardener. Probably because he looks kind of grungy—with dirt on his clothes and under his fingernails. Which makes sense when you consider that he had just crawled out of a dusty cave, where he self-isolated for three days after being pronounced dead.
Shocked by this resurrection encounter, Mary runs back to the house where the other disciples shelter in place. Rushing through the door, she tells them, “I’ve seen the Lord!” But men being men, the disciples don’t seem to take her seriously.
That same evening is where today’s Gospel story begins. With the same group of disciples. Mary Magdalene isn’t mentioned, but I’m sure she’s there, along with other women. It’s growing dark and they’ve locked the door. According this Gospel’s author, they’re afraid—afraid of the Jews.
Sadly, that detail has been used in the past to support anti-Semitism and hatred of Jewish people. Because when you read this, it’s easy to assume a Jewish versus Christian dichotomy.
When in reality, back then both the disciples of Jesus and those who opposed them were Jewish. So, the people on the inside of the closed door and on the outside were all Jews.
Having our congregation worshiping at Temple Beth El Synagogue since last August (which is something I really miss during this time of social distancing), I’m especially sensitive to passages like this that seem to portray our Jewish neighbors in a negative light.
For I believe we need to continually work to open doors that separate us from those who are different. Different in religion. Different in race. Different in gender identity and sexual orientation.
And I believe Jesus is that kind of door. In the 10th chapter of this Gospel, Jesus says, “I am the gate.” He says that in the context of being the Good Shepherd of the sheep, but the word for gate in Greek is actually “door.”
The door imagery is fully realized in the room where today the disciples hide in fear. But the locked door can’t keep Jesus out. The risen Jesus comes to calm their anxiety. Three times he says, “Peace be with you…. Peace be with you…. Peace be with you.”
Words that we desperately need to hear today. For like the disciples, we huddle together in own fear. Not of the Jews, though some white supremacists have blamed them for the COVID pandemic.
But our fear is based on what we might lose. Our health. Our job. Our loved ones. Our freedom. Our faith community.
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, the author of several books about death and grief, once suggested:
“There are only two [primary] emotions: love and fear. All positive emotions come from love. All negative emotions from fear. From love flows happiness, contentment, peace, and joy. From fear comes anger, hate, anxiety and guilt…. If we’re in fear, we are not in a place of love. When we’re in a place of love, we cannot be in a place of fear.” *
Perhaps that’s why the resurrected Jesus, in this story doesn’t say, “Don’t be afraid.” Though he certainly said that in other places in the Gospels. But Jesus knows that fear has overwhelmed his friends and loved ones. He knows they need something to help them move beyond their fear of death and the unknown. Just like us today.
So, instead Jesus speaks words of love and grace: “Peace be with you. Receive the Holy Spirit. Breathe (deep breath) in the living breath of God.”
And on this second Sunday of Easter, Jesus speaks those same words to us. Words that calm our troubled hearts. Words that open every locked door that keeps us hidden in the shadows of this dark pandemic. Words that let the risen Christ walk among us.
Words that Jesus says to you and to me: “I am the door that leads to peace and love and new life.” Amen.
--------------------------------
*Kubler-Ross, Elizabeth, & David Kessler, Life Lessons: Two Experts on Death and Dying Teach Us About the Mysteries of Life and Living (Scribner, New York City, NY, 1972).
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: John 20:19-31
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name
The clinic got its name from its front door. A big red door on the street. Not exactly a scarlet letter, but a lot of shame passed through that door.
When the Red Door Clinic moved to a new building, it lost its signature entrance. And the clinic ended up in the basement—perhaps a non-so-subtle statement of how its patients were regarded.
The Red Door was an anonymous test site. In the early years of the AIDS epidemic, there was a lot of discussion about the pros and cons of anonymous versus confidential testing. Confidential testing is where you give your real name, but everything is still HIPAA compliant. Anonymous requires no names.
At the Red Door, most people made up names. Like John Doe, or Scarlet O’Hara, or Michael Jackson. And a lot of Ronald Reagan’s. When Rose Nyland of “The Golden Girls” TV show went to get tested (if you remember that episode), she used the name of her roommate Dorothy.
I remember going to the Red Door for an HIV test. And then waiting two weeks for the results. Two weeks of agony—even when you knew you weren’t really at risk. People like that were called “worried well.” But knowing that didn’t make the fear go away.
The staff at the Red Door were wonderful. They didn’t judge you because you were queer or a drug user or sex worker. The shame you might feel at other clinics was replaced by kind and caring words. Offered by counselors who held your hand. Who understood the fear and stigma. Who protected your identity behind closed doors.
Today’s Gospel lesson is also a story about closed doors. The Easter story in John’s Gospel begins with Mary Magdalene at Jesus’ grave. Expecting to find the door of the tomb closed, she’s surprised to see the large stone rolled to one side. She quickly goes to get Peter and the beloved disciple, who run with her back to the empty tomb.
Eventually the two men leave, but Mary stays, weeping. Looking through the open doorway, Mary sees two angels. Who tell her Christ is risen. Turning around, Mary comes face-to-face with Jesus. Though at first she thinks he’s the gardener. Probably because he looks kind of grungy—with dirt on his clothes and under his fingernails. Which makes sense when you consider that he had just crawled out of a dusty cave, where he self-isolated for three days after being pronounced dead.
Shocked by this resurrection encounter, Mary runs back to the house where the other disciples shelter in place. Rushing through the door, she tells them, “I’ve seen the Lord!” But men being men, the disciples don’t seem to take her seriously.
That same evening is where today’s Gospel story begins. With the same group of disciples. Mary Magdalene isn’t mentioned, but I’m sure she’s there, along with other women. It’s growing dark and they’ve locked the door. According this Gospel’s author, they’re afraid—afraid of the Jews.
Sadly, that detail has been used in the past to support anti-Semitism and hatred of Jewish people. Because when you read this, it’s easy to assume a Jewish versus Christian dichotomy.
When in reality, back then both the disciples of Jesus and those who opposed them were Jewish. So, the people on the inside of the closed door and on the outside were all Jews.
Having our congregation worshiping at Temple Beth El Synagogue since last August (which is something I really miss during this time of social distancing), I’m especially sensitive to passages like this that seem to portray our Jewish neighbors in a negative light.
For I believe we need to continually work to open doors that separate us from those who are different. Different in religion. Different in race. Different in gender identity and sexual orientation.
And I believe Jesus is that kind of door. In the 10th chapter of this Gospel, Jesus says, “I am the gate.” He says that in the context of being the Good Shepherd of the sheep, but the word for gate in Greek is actually “door.”
The door imagery is fully realized in the room where today the disciples hide in fear. But the locked door can’t keep Jesus out. The risen Jesus comes to calm their anxiety. Three times he says, “Peace be with you…. Peace be with you…. Peace be with you.”
Words that we desperately need to hear today. For like the disciples, we huddle together in own fear. Not of the Jews, though some white supremacists have blamed them for the COVID pandemic.
But our fear is based on what we might lose. Our health. Our job. Our loved ones. Our freedom. Our faith community.
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, the author of several books about death and grief, once suggested:
“There are only two [primary] emotions: love and fear. All positive emotions come from love. All negative emotions from fear. From love flows happiness, contentment, peace, and joy. From fear comes anger, hate, anxiety and guilt…. If we’re in fear, we are not in a place of love. When we’re in a place of love, we cannot be in a place of fear.” *
Perhaps that’s why the resurrected Jesus, in this story doesn’t say, “Don’t be afraid.” Though he certainly said that in other places in the Gospels. But Jesus knows that fear has overwhelmed his friends and loved ones. He knows they need something to help them move beyond their fear of death and the unknown. Just like us today.
So, instead Jesus speaks words of love and grace: “Peace be with you. Receive the Holy Spirit. Breathe (deep breath) in the living breath of God.”
And on this second Sunday of Easter, Jesus speaks those same words to us. Words that calm our troubled hearts. Words that open every locked door that keeps us hidden in the shadows of this dark pandemic. Words that let the risen Christ walk among us.
Words that Jesus says to you and to me: “I am the door that leads to peace and love and new life.” Amen.
--------------------------------
*Kubler-Ross, Elizabeth, & David Kessler, Life Lessons: Two Experts on Death and Dying Teach Us About the Mysteries of Life and Living (Scribner, New York City, NY, 1972).
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: John 20:19-31
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name
"Burning Hearts"
Based on Luke 24:13-35 (reading follows the sermon)
April 26, 2020
Years ago, I worked with Migrant Health Services, which had its headquarters here in Moorhead. I was an outreach worker with a public health nurse.
Based in the Twin Cities, we operated a mobile clinic in an old RV trailer pulled by a Chevy truck. We traveled many miles to farms and factories where migrants worked in southern Minnesota.
Late one afternoon, we went to visit a family at their home near Winthrop, a small town about an hour from our office. Our nurse Beth wanted to see their 13-year-old son, Ramón, who had diabetes.
So, we stopped by without an appointment. When we arrive, María the mother is a gracious host. We sit around her kitchen table, as she serves us homemade quesadillas, cookies and coffee.
We chat about things for a while in Spanish—which is what you do in Latino culture—before getting down to business.
Then Beth starts by asking Ramón some questions. “How are you feeling? What do you like to eat?” But Ramón is shy and reticent. His mother María does most of the talking.
When Beth asks what medications Ramón is taking, María goes to get them. She comes back holding a shoebox filled with pill bottles. I can tell Beth is shocked.
“Where did you get these?” Beth inquires. “In Mexico,” María replies in Spanish. “Where we live, the pharmacy gives you whatever you need without a prescription.”
When Beth asks which medications María gives to Ramón. María picks out four bottles. “This is his insulin,” she says, holding up one. “He takes two pills each day. The other, I think, lowers his blood sugar.”
Then María shows the nurse the two remaining bottles. “Ramón has a cold, so I’ve been giving him these.” Beth carefully reads the labels, which tell her they are strong antibiotics. She frowns.
Beth has a stern talk with María about medications and tells her that people should only take drugs that are prescribed by a physician.
María, the polite host, just smiles and nods. I wonder if she will follow the nurse’s advice. After all, Beth is really just a stranger who has come to her house uninvited.
Back in the car, Beth tells me how disturbed she was by Maria’s shoebox pharmacy. It was a home visit we would never forget.
Today’s Gospel lesson tells the story of another unforgettable home visit. The Emmaus story is my favorite Easter passage. Luke tells us that it takes place on the same day the women discovered the empty tomb.
Later that day, a couple disciples are walking home to Emmaus, about six miles from Jerusalem. Along the way they meet a stranger and have a long, two-hour discussion.
When they arrive at Emmaus, they invite the stranger into their home. They do what any good host would do. They ask him to spend the night. They serve a meal.
One of the hosts is Cleopas, but the other is unnamed. Early Christians claimed that Cleopas was the brother of Joseph, Jesus’ father.
Some scholars suggest the walking companion was his wife Mary. Who, according to John’s Gospel, was one of three Mary’s who stood at the foot of the cross during Jesus’ crucifixion—including Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Jesus.
“Mary” was a common name back then, just like “María” in Latino communities today. In the time of Jesus, Mary was the Latin version of the Hebrew name Miriam—the sister of Moses, who led the people of Israel to freedom from Egypt.
Miriam. Who sang a victory song at parting of the Red Sea. Miriam. Whose name is forever linked to liberation. It’s not surprising that the name Mary became popular during the Roman occupation of Israel.
Names can inspire oppressed people to think about past heroes who defied evil oppression. Sometimes in secret. Sometimes in boldness. Like Harriet Tubman. Or Harvey Milk. Or Oscar Romero. Or Greta Thunberg.
In our Gospel story, we don’t really find anyone I would call a hero. Just a married couple—Mary and Cleopas, the aunt and uncle of Jesus. Who walk the road of Emmaus.
Walking by themselves—possibly social distancing, they tell the stranger who joins them about all the horrible things have taken place in their community and nation.
You would think that nothing could stop the couple from guessing that their strange companion was really their nephew Jesus.
Maybe it was the late afternoon sun in their eyes. Or maybe they were so distracted by grief and worry and fear, that they couldn’t imagine how things could ever get better. Death and trauma can have that effect on your brain.
Throughout the walk, the couple feels a strange burning in their chest. The man’s voice sounds vaguely familiar. The stories the stranger tells from Jewish scripture remind their hearts of God’s promises.
The words of the prophets help their minds remember how God saved their ancestors from oppression and despair, disaster and genocide. Stories of Noah and his family. Sarah and Abraham. Joseph and his brothers. Miriam and Moses. Ruth and Esther.
The stranger helps them see that each one of those faith heroes must have also faced times when they doubted whether God could help them. Whether God really walked beside them.
And today like Mary and Cleopas, each of us can remember times in our lives like that. Times when you walked the road to Emmaus. Times when you wish God could just hand you a box full of prescriptions to heal all the sickness and pain and death around us.
It’s part of your spiritual journey and mine. A place to wrestle with doubts and questions, beliefs and hopes, anxiety and dread. A place to come to terms with difficult events, unexpected losses, and never-ending fear.
A place where your heart burns within you. A place where you don’t expect to find Jesus.
Today, especially, I believe that a lot of us are looking for an Emmaus road. A place where you can openly discuss the issues that feel overwhelming.
I believe Emmaus is here among us today. Here in our St. Mark’s community, as we continue this part of our journey together.
Where we finally see who Jesus really is. The risen Christ. The great physician.
Where Jesus comes to us again. Where we are. In our homes. Where we invite Jesus to be our guest.
Where suddenly the risen Christ becomes the host at our dinner table. In the breaking of the bread. Coming to us when no one else can.
Promising to always walk beside us. Promising to dwell in our hearts. Wherever our path may lead.
Saying, “I am with you always.” In life. In death. In life beyond death. Amen.
+ + +
GOSPEL READING: Luke 24:13-35
Now on that same day [when Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene,] two [disciples] were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.
As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
Based in the Twin Cities, we operated a mobile clinic in an old RV trailer pulled by a Chevy truck. We traveled many miles to farms and factories where migrants worked in southern Minnesota.
Late one afternoon, we went to visit a family at their home near Winthrop, a small town about an hour from our office. Our nurse Beth wanted to see their 13-year-old son, Ramón, who had diabetes.
So, we stopped by without an appointment. When we arrive, María the mother is a gracious host. We sit around her kitchen table, as she serves us homemade quesadillas, cookies and coffee.
We chat about things for a while in Spanish—which is what you do in Latino culture—before getting down to business.
Then Beth starts by asking Ramón some questions. “How are you feeling? What do you like to eat?” But Ramón is shy and reticent. His mother María does most of the talking.
When Beth asks what medications Ramón is taking, María goes to get them. She comes back holding a shoebox filled with pill bottles. I can tell Beth is shocked.
“Where did you get these?” Beth inquires. “In Mexico,” María replies in Spanish. “Where we live, the pharmacy gives you whatever you need without a prescription.”
When Beth asks which medications María gives to Ramón. María picks out four bottles. “This is his insulin,” she says, holding up one. “He takes two pills each day. The other, I think, lowers his blood sugar.”
Then María shows the nurse the two remaining bottles. “Ramón has a cold, so I’ve been giving him these.” Beth carefully reads the labels, which tell her they are strong antibiotics. She frowns.
Beth has a stern talk with María about medications and tells her that people should only take drugs that are prescribed by a physician.
María, the polite host, just smiles and nods. I wonder if she will follow the nurse’s advice. After all, Beth is really just a stranger who has come to her house uninvited.
Back in the car, Beth tells me how disturbed she was by Maria’s shoebox pharmacy. It was a home visit we would never forget.
Today’s Gospel lesson tells the story of another unforgettable home visit. The Emmaus story is my favorite Easter passage. Luke tells us that it takes place on the same day the women discovered the empty tomb.
Later that day, a couple disciples are walking home to Emmaus, about six miles from Jerusalem. Along the way they meet a stranger and have a long, two-hour discussion.
When they arrive at Emmaus, they invite the stranger into their home. They do what any good host would do. They ask him to spend the night. They serve a meal.
One of the hosts is Cleopas, but the other is unnamed. Early Christians claimed that Cleopas was the brother of Joseph, Jesus’ father.
Some scholars suggest the walking companion was his wife Mary. Who, according to John’s Gospel, was one of three Mary’s who stood at the foot of the cross during Jesus’ crucifixion—including Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Jesus.
“Mary” was a common name back then, just like “María” in Latino communities today. In the time of Jesus, Mary was the Latin version of the Hebrew name Miriam—the sister of Moses, who led the people of Israel to freedom from Egypt.
Miriam. Who sang a victory song at parting of the Red Sea. Miriam. Whose name is forever linked to liberation. It’s not surprising that the name Mary became popular during the Roman occupation of Israel.
Names can inspire oppressed people to think about past heroes who defied evil oppression. Sometimes in secret. Sometimes in boldness. Like Harriet Tubman. Or Harvey Milk. Or Oscar Romero. Or Greta Thunberg.
In our Gospel story, we don’t really find anyone I would call a hero. Just a married couple—Mary and Cleopas, the aunt and uncle of Jesus. Who walk the road of Emmaus.
Walking by themselves—possibly social distancing, they tell the stranger who joins them about all the horrible things have taken place in their community and nation.
You would think that nothing could stop the couple from guessing that their strange companion was really their nephew Jesus.
Maybe it was the late afternoon sun in their eyes. Or maybe they were so distracted by grief and worry and fear, that they couldn’t imagine how things could ever get better. Death and trauma can have that effect on your brain.
Throughout the walk, the couple feels a strange burning in their chest. The man’s voice sounds vaguely familiar. The stories the stranger tells from Jewish scripture remind their hearts of God’s promises.
The words of the prophets help their minds remember how God saved their ancestors from oppression and despair, disaster and genocide. Stories of Noah and his family. Sarah and Abraham. Joseph and his brothers. Miriam and Moses. Ruth and Esther.
The stranger helps them see that each one of those faith heroes must have also faced times when they doubted whether God could help them. Whether God really walked beside them.
And today like Mary and Cleopas, each of us can remember times in our lives like that. Times when you walked the road to Emmaus. Times when you wish God could just hand you a box full of prescriptions to heal all the sickness and pain and death around us.
It’s part of your spiritual journey and mine. A place to wrestle with doubts and questions, beliefs and hopes, anxiety and dread. A place to come to terms with difficult events, unexpected losses, and never-ending fear.
A place where your heart burns within you. A place where you don’t expect to find Jesus.
Today, especially, I believe that a lot of us are looking for an Emmaus road. A place where you can openly discuss the issues that feel overwhelming.
I believe Emmaus is here among us today. Here in our St. Mark’s community, as we continue this part of our journey together.
Where we finally see who Jesus really is. The risen Christ. The great physician.
Where Jesus comes to us again. Where we are. In our homes. Where we invite Jesus to be our guest.
Where suddenly the risen Christ becomes the host at our dinner table. In the breaking of the bread. Coming to us when no one else can.
Promising to always walk beside us. Promising to dwell in our hearts. Wherever our path may lead.
Saying, “I am with you always.” In life. In death. In life beyond death. Amen.
+ + +
GOSPEL READING: Luke 24:13-35
Now on that same day [when Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene,] two [disciples] were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.
As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.